


Good Morning, New York!

by AlphaFlyer



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2233416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaFlyer/pseuds/AlphaFlyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assassins and day-time TV don't mix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Morning, New York!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scribblemyname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/gifts), [Happilydancing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happilydancing/gifts), [SneakyHufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyHufflepuff/gifts).



> I didn’t get as many stories done for this year’s **be_compromised** Promptathon as I would have liked, due to other writing commitments. So I decided to combine prompts instead … The first was from [scribblemyname](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/pseuds/scribblemyname), who suggested that, “ _JARVIS is a total shipper and tries to get Clint and Natasha together._ ” The second came from **happilydancing** : “ _Clint and Nat being interviewed by Oprah or someone on TV_ ”, to which [SneakyHufflepuff](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyHufflepuff/pseuds/SneakyHufflepuff) added, “ _I don't know if I want to write them being interviewed by someone awesome (like Ellen), or someone not awesome, who they stare down and mess with_.”  >
> 
> Oh, and the whole thing also fills in a square for my trope bingo (see end notes). Booya!
> 
> As usual, I own nothing; also, anyone looking for something profound in this will be sorely disappointed.  
> 

“Five minutes to cameras rolling.  You look _fabulous_ , you two.  _Just gorgeous_.” 

The hostess’ words are probably meant to be reassuring, but Clint is clearly not buying. 

“Yeah? Then why’d you try and put eyeliner on me? That face make-up was bad enough. I’m gonna have to scrape that shit off with a spatula.” 

The woman bats her lashes at him in a way that makes Natasha want to reach for her bracelets. 

“But you have such _gorgeous_ eyes, Mr. Barton. Such a _gorgeous_ colour.  It’s a shame not to emphasize your best asset.” 

The inarticulate noise Clint makes in response falls somewhere between _What Did I Just Step In?_  and _Hulk meets Loki_. Natasha, for her part, wonders just how the woman managed to miss Clint’s arms.   No matter.   She puts her hand on her partner’s shoulder. 

“Clint. _Relax_.” 

“I _am_ relaxed.  You should see me when I’m tense.” 

Of course Natasha has -- rather often actually -- but arguing the point would be counter-productive.  Clint has spared no one (including the hapless guy tasked with trying to keep his hair from sticking up) his opinion about being strong-armed into playing nice in front of a camera.  

“The Mandarin incident and the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. have given both the Avengers Initiative and Stark Industries a bad name.  The brand needs to be repositioned in a more positive light,” Pepper’s e-mail had said. “We need you to help us out a little. And no, Clint, PR is _not_ short for prostitution.” 

Hill’s message had been just as direct. 

“This is a prophylactic effort,” it had said, “to help people overlook the damage you lot will doubtless cause the next time there’s trouble.  Consider this a service to humanity.  Hard as it might be for _anyone_ to see _you_ in that light, Barton.” 

Clint, who prefers short, Fury-type explanations (“ _he needs killing_ ”) had stopped reading halfway through. 

“Yeah, and you know where Hill can stick that prophylactic of hers?” 

But, free rent is free rent, the (former) boss is still kind of the boss, and so here they are, an hour later, Clint still sputtering. 

“This was all put together on what, five minutes’ notice?  Do you even know what this show is called?  Whether this woman has been security cleared?  And have you seen any draft questions?  Well, _have you_?” 

Natasha rolls her eyes, and whispers her response. 

“If I can sit through three hours of Congressional hearing on live TV without talking points, you can handle ten minutes worth of a taped interview with a woman who got her IQ on sale at _Accessorize_. Get a grip, Clint. How bad can it get?” 

Clint casts her a baleful look. 

“You ever hear of YouTube? This stuff is eternal. Once this gets out …” 

The reporter leaves the room briefly to fuss with the sound engineer, and JARVIS’ cultured and soothing voice appears.  As usual, it’s coming from somewhere in the room – somewhere, or everywhere. (Anywhere, that is, except on Clint’s and Natasha’s floor, of course.) 

“ _Agent Barton, if it helps at all, Stark Industries holds the rights to this interview, including the decision whether to broadcast or not. Also, I would note that Captain Rogers has already been interviewed by the History Channel_ and _CNN.  Sir and Doctor Banner have participated on the CBC’s_ Quirks and Quarks _, and Thor will be on an episode of ‘Mythbusters’ next time he is on Earth.  This particular show will reach a demographic we have so far neglected. And of course, I do not need to remind you, Agent Barton, that Stark Industries is providing you and Miss Romanoff with a free platform from which to Do Good for mankind._ ” 

Clint won’t ever admit it, of course, but he has developed a soft spot for JARVIS, ever since the AI had allowed him to take Natasha out in Stark’s ’57 Bugatti and wiped out all records of the garage having been opened.  He glares at the ceiling. 

“That’s fucking blackmail, J, and you know it.” 

The issue is settled by the reporter who is bouncing back into the room.  

“Thirty seconds to action, people.”  

Kathy-Mae starts a countdown with her fingers:  _Five … four … three … two … and …._  

Big, toothy smile. 

“Good morning New York, and a great big hug to all of you girls out there having your breakfast this fine morning!  This is Kathy-Mae Dawson, coming to you _exclusively_ today straight from Avengers Tower in Manhattan.  Welcome to the latest edition of _Celebrity Crush_!” 

There is an audible snap as Clint’s jaw crunches shut; the look he gives Natasha is pure betrayal. Kathy-Mae smiles again, light reflecting off her pearlescent teeth. 

“We have here with us today two _very_ special guests. The two people who are possibly the most mysterious of the Avengers, former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.  Of course, Natasha is no stranger to national television, since her trending appearance before Congress several months ago.  She wowed us all then, with her determination to continue saving the world, in spite of all that nasty politicking.” 

She takes a breath, to allow the camera to sweep across her guests. Clint is squirming in his seat while Natasha shoots him a warning look, which he either ignores or doesn’t see. 

“But Clint here, also known as _Hawkeye_ ,” cue dramatic widening of eyes, as if an important point had just been made, “usually prefers to stay out of the lime light.  So this is a very rare sighting, of a very rare bird.” 

She gives a trilling laugh to celebrate her wit.  

“Which is a shame, girls, because – well, just _look_ at him. _So_ intense.  Isn’t he _intense_ , Natasha?” 

That _intense_ look is one Natasha usually sees across Clint’s bow; Kathy-Mae is lucky to be a civilian, and that Clint prefers to kill away from recording devices.  The chatter resumes. 

“But on to our first question.  Darling, that is one _badass_ uniform you’re wearing when you’re out there, saving the world.  Smart, functional, and so, so … _sleek_.” Kathy-Mae waggles her eyebrows to make sure she gets her point across.  “Just _what_ do you wear underneath? It doesn’t seem to have room for anything but maybe the _teeniest_ of thongs?” 

She winks at Clint, and it’s time for Natasha’s jaw to snap shut.  _So that’s the game?_  

“Isn’t that kind of personal?” 

Natasha casts a sharp look at Clint, who gives the tiniest nod and clears his throat. 

“Commando.” 

“I beg your pardon?” The hostess makes a surprisingly quick recovery though, and bats her eyelids at him slyly.  “And how would _you_ know what Natasha wears underneath?” 

“Who says I was talking about _her_?  I thought your question was for both of us.” 

He gives Natasha the briefest of sideways glances; she relaxes into her seat, happy to hand him the reins for a bit. 

“Depends on how much time I get to change, see.  New York, Cap told me to suit up with, like, five minutes to spare. And Loki wasn’t the kind of guy who lets you stop and change underwear, you know what I mean, even if I’d had the chance to pack an extra pair before he brainwashed me, which I didn’t. _Three days, man._ No way was I keeping those on if I was gonna change into my leathers anyway. So?  _Commando_.” 

He smiles guilelessly at the camera.  Natasha recalls the scene at that little restaurant, after the battle – the two of them sitting side by side, his leg up against her own…  Really?  _Nothing?_ Nothing between them except sweaty, slightly ripped leathers?  If she’d known, and hadn’t been so tired … 

She reaches for her glass of water, her throat suddenly dry, just as their hostess is making her own recovery. 

“Well, that’s very interesting, I’m sure, and to Natasha here as well. I _do_ have a question just for you though, Agent Barton.  _Hawkeye,_ I mean _._   In a fight between yourself and Natasha, who do you think would win?” 

Clint frowns for a split second; Natasha answers for him. 

“Why would we want to fight? We’re on the same team.” 

Kathy-Mae pouts a little. 

“Oh, I don’t mean for real.  But surely you spar against each other?  I would pay good money to see that.  Surely it would be…. totally sexy? Do you ever fight for … certain stakes?” 

Clint goes into professional mode in whiplash time.  His eyes shoot daggers and his voice drips icicles as he plays the Fury card. 

“Training details are classified. Move on, lady.” 

Their hostess does not seem intimidated in the least.  Instead, she titters, shrugs, and changes tack. 

“Fine. This is a question for both of you. There are rumours out there that you two are more than partners.  A _lot_ more than partners. Can you tell us a bit more about that?” 

“About what?” Natasha smiles sweetly, her eyes doe-like now, and huge.  

Kathy-Mae smiles in return.  Those teeth really are works of art -- compliments to the creator. 

“About the nature of your relationship?  Some people suggest you two should get married.”  She titters a little.  “Or maybe you already are?” 

Clint picks up the ball. 

“Yes, actually. Married, I mean. I am.  Married.”

Natasha shoots him a look intended to be unreadable (who knows where the camera is pointed), while their hostess takes a gulping breath.  

 _“Married,_ Agent Barton?  Really? _”_ Her voice is scoop-of-the-century triumphant. 

“Yeah.” Clint sighs theatrically. “Bobbi Morse and I were separated, and then everyone thought she was dead and so I never bothered with a divorce. But then she turned up again. Really happy to see she wasn’t dead of course. Bobbi’s great and a good friend, even if we sucked as a couple. But paperwork-wise – nightmare city.” 

Kathy-Mae seems to be in something of a stupor. 

“Are you sure she’s not really dead?” 

Natasha knows it’s her turn. 

“Absolutely. Bobbi and I had coffee just last week. It’s become a kind of a thing around here, you know -- one moment you’re dead, the next you’re back. It started with Bobbi. Then there was Steve, then Coulson, and Barnes …  Not to mention those zombie monks in Yerevan?  They stank of rotting flesh though, I’m told, so they were at least mostly dead.” 

“Yeah, no one ever stays dead anymore, do they?”  Clint shakes his head sagely. 

“Of course they do. Remember that fat arms dealer in Murmansk?” 

“Oh, you mean that guy that put his hands up your skirt?  Yeah, guess _he_ stayed dead. Had to.  Man, that was a lot of blood.” 

“Well, you _did_ hit him in the carotid artery, instead of the larynx.” 

“Not my fault. Guy had so many chins, you couldn’t tell where it was.” 

Clint considers something and stares straight at the camera.  “Oh, _and_ Fury. He’s _definitely_ dead.  God rest his soul.” 

Natasha nods, allowing a tear to escape her eye.  (It’s almost genuine, as she remembers the sight of his body on that gurney.) 

“I do miss him. He was like a father to me, even if he didn’t trust me half the time.”  

Kathy-Mae, who’s been following the rapid-fire back-and-forth as if from Center Court at Wimbledon, tut-tuts good-naturedly. 

“That was a pretty nicely executed diversion, folks.  But seriously.  How _would_ you describe your relationship?” 

Clint and Natasha look at each other for the briefest of moments.   Actually, it turns into a somewhat longer moment, as each waits for the other to answer first.  They resolve the issue by answering at the same time. 

“Work wife.” “Best friend.” 

“Right,” Clint makes a quick recovery, of sorts.  “That too. Best friend, I mean.” 

Kathy-Mae looks disappointed and is about to say something else, when  Natasha steals a look at her watch. 

“Okay JARVIS, time’s up. We agreed to ten minutes, right? Nice try.  ‘A’ for effort.” 

Kathy-Mae sputters. 

“Whatever do you mean?” 

Clint detaches the microphone from the collar of his t-shirt and throws it at the reporter’s right eye. The reporter doesn’t blink as the mic enters her head and flies out the back, where it clatters against a camera. Kathy-Mae flickers a little and dissolves; the camera, it seems, is real. 

JARVIS’ voice fills the room, sounding a little sheepish. 

“What gave it away, if I may ask, agents?  I extrapolated data from several daytime television hostesses and thought I had struck the proper tone for an in-depth discussion about love and romance.” 

“The teeth,” Natasha says.  “Next time you go the live-model decoy route, try for less sparkle.” 

“When you called me Agent Barton,” Clint says smugly.  “Before that, I thought Nat just wanted me to troll.” 

“And you were very good at it, if I may say so, sir.  A masterful performance.” 

Clint snorts, and takes a bow. 

“Trained to entertain, what can I say.  But I suggest you give it a rest for a bit now, J, and we won’t tell Maria and Pepper that you hijacked their e-mail accounts.” 

JARVIS’ tone is more wistful than genuinely apologetic. 

“I do regret any inconvenience caused, agents. Permit me to wish you a very happy afternoon, and please consider spending it together.” 

“You don’t give up, do you?”  

Clint shakes his head. They rise as one and head out of the improvised studio and to the elevator, side by side as usual. Nothing is said until they reach Natasha’s quarters.  She waits until the door is closed before rounding on Clint. 

“ _Work wife_?  Are you kidding me?  JARVIS has been trawling for building block intel about our relationship for _weeks_ , and _that’s_ the best you can come up with?  Not to mention all that stuff about Bobbi.” 

Clint puts his arms around her waist, laces his fingers together and pulls her close. 

“Admit it, that was genius. Not a single lie in anything I said. It’s all in how you connect the dots, Mrs. Barton.” 

He gives her one of those grins that she never knows whether to wipe or kiss off his face. Natasha decides to take the kissing route, and for a moment there’s complete, contented silence. But Clint isn’t done. 

“Maybe we should just come out and leave the license somewhere there’s a camera? Because otherwise we may need to ask Stark to dial J’s emotion chip from _Tiger Beat_ down to Ingmar Bergman.” 

“JARVIS just wants us to be happy, Mr. Romanoff.”  Natasha nuzzles his neck with her lips; Clint hums contentedly and turns a little to give her better access.  “It’s called _shipping_ , Darcy tells me. He thinks he’s responsible for getting Pepper and Tony together, too.  Actually, I think it’s kind of cute.” 

“Really? When we agreed to live here I thought this was Avengers Tower, not Melrose Place.  Guy could lose all instincts for killing around here. I swear, if I have to listen to _I will always love you_ in the elevator one more time, I’ll move to New Jersey.” 

Clint buries his face in Natasha’s hair, inhaling her scent; she can feel his heartbeat speed up. Spending the afternoon together sounds like an excellent suggestion indeed, until Natasha’s smartphone beeps the arrival of a text message. 

 _Send in the Clowns,_ Maria Hill’s personal ringtone.  Natasha looks at the screen and lets out a sigh. 

“Guess what? Maria saw the whole thing.  She wants to book us a spot on real TV, for the greater glory of the Avengers Initiative. You ever hear of something called _Saturday Night Live_?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> A little while ago I signed up for a private trope bingo -- this gets me the "secretly married" square (my hardest challenge, because that's not exactly a place my head canon takes me).


End file.
